<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>I won’t leave you by Madita1908</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963794">I won’t leave you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madita1908/pseuds/Madita1908'>Madita1908</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Saint and the Rockstar [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel - Michael Scott</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bombs, Domestic, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Love, Paris - Freeform, Romance, WWII, World War II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:48:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,724</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963794</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madita1908/pseuds/Madita1908</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1946 and Francis is asked if he wants to go home or stay in  Paris.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Francis Saint-Germain/Joan of Arc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Saint and the Rockstar [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I won’t leave you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story was inspired by the new short story!<br/>Thanks to the sinf server for listening to my brabble and especially @Ellen and @piper. </p><p>Hope you enjoy it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'“Don’t go,” the young woman mumbled half asleep, as she noticed how Francis, the Count of Saint-Germain carefully got up from the bed. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and blinked tiredly at him. “Stay.”<br/>
“I’ll be right back, don’t worry,” Saint-Germain assured her, but her response was muffled by the blanket. The count made his way to the small bathroom which was attached to their room. By now his feet knew where to step on the wooden floor to avoid the loud squeaky noise.<br/>
Saint-Germain wasn’t quite sure which course this day would go – and if he was honest, he wanted to skip it.</p><p>His wristwatch told him it was half-past 10 in the morning. Usually, he would’ve already been at work for two hours by now, but he was off duty today. The order had come from his foremen and he had thankfully accepted it. Francis sighed, how he wished this day would go normally!</p><p>A few days ago, his foreman had asked him if he wanted to stay in France or go back home to New Orleans. The count hadn’t been prepared for that question, and asked for a few days to think about it – and to talk to his girlfriend about the idea.<br/>
Today, he had to make a decision. Standing in front of the small sink, the count turned on the water, splashing it into his face as he tried to think about what he should do. He still worked for the US government, not as a spy this time but as an intermediary. The work paid well, and the best thing was that he could work together with his girlfriend.<br/>
His thoughts raced. <em>“You will work in a much higher position back home”,</em> his foreman had told him, <em>“I will pull some strings, as a reward for your good service.”</em> No doubt, this was tempting, but Saint-Germain didn’t see himself as an office worker at all.</p><p>Turning off the water, Francis returned to the bedroom, where he found his girlfriend still snuggled up in bed. A sad smile spread on his lips. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her curled up in his spot, and he hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he saw her doing it. “Hey, this is my side,” he said while shielding his eyes from the sunlight, which was shining through the gap in the curtains.<br/>
“Nope, my side now,” the woman answered, not moving an inch from his side, before she pulled the blanket over her head to escape the sun. Francis couldn’t blame her for either one. Moving around the bed, the Count closed the curtains, before climbing back under the blanket. Pulling the woman closer to him, he placed his arms around her, as she willingly raised her head for him to lay his arm under it. Silence rose again, and the couple remained in this position for a long time. When she turned in his arms to face him, he opened his eyes and gently pressed a kiss on her forehead, before wishing her a good morning. Gently, he brushed her hair out of her face. She opened her grey eyes, and he could tell by looking into them that she was sharing his thoughts. Overall, her eyes looked even sadder than the night before, and it broke his heart. This was not a good morning.</p><p>“Good morning,” she whispered, unsure if she had spoken the words aloud or not, while she snuggled up to him even more. Protectively, he embraced her again, pressing another kiss on her head, breathing in the smallest hint of her aura’s scent. He couldn’t even imagine waking up without her anymore.<br/>
A silence rose once again, while the woman took it all in, what he had to offer her: warmth, love and protection.<br/>
Of course, she knew that today was the day on which he had to decide whether he wanted to stay here or head home – which would mean leaving her. The silence grew uncomfortable, and even Saint-Germain’s “How have you slept?” was left unanswered. One of them had to make the first step into this conversation, they knew it. One had to start it and yet neither wanted to do it.</p><p>“Have you come to a decision?” the French woman asked quietly, the words heavy with the accent of her youth. Saint Germain could swear that her tone already sounded sad and hurt. What if she already decided that she didn’t want him to stay here with her? His heart pounded violently against his ribs as a heavy breath left his mouth. He saw her lips tremble and felt more than sorry for the situation he’d put her in.</p><p>“Joan….” he answered, but a lump built in his throat, making it impossible for him to complete the sentence. Every answer he had built in his mind sounded wrong, not true. And all Joan deserved, in his opinion, were true answers.</p><p>Hearing her name from his lips was enough for Joan to free herself from his embrace. Sitting up, she stretched her upper body for a moment, before leaning back against the metallic headboard of their bed. Her mind already told her that he would leave her. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t hold back the hurt tone and tremble from her voice when she spoke again. “Are you heading home?”<br/>
“I am not sure,” Francis answered, his voice thick, “Nothing is waiting there for me,” he added, trying to make it sound neutral.<br/>
“But it’s your home.”<br/>
Francis sat up as well. “Do immortals even consider a place home?” he asked her then, “I mean, we only spend several decades in one place at the most. At least that’s what I have been doing,” he told her softly. He saw how she absently started to play with the hem of their blanket, a sign that she was thinking.</p><p>Joan knew that his words were true. It was one of the things you first learned as an immortal: don’t spend too much time at the same place. Mortals become suspicious quite quickly, no matter what you do to prevent that from happening.</p><p>Joan of Arc had never thought that she would be in a relationship after Scathach ever again. When Scathach had left her, her heart had felt like it had broken into millions of pieces. It had taken her a long time to move on from this experience, and even after Scathach returned, she hadn’t been able to reunite with the shadow the way they had been before. They remained best friends after all this time, but Joan couldn’t bring herself giving her heart away again. But life had surprised her once again. For three years now, she and Francis had been in a relationship. Drifting away in her memories, the immortal recalled the beginning of their life together.</p><p> </p><p>They had first met either in 1848 or 1849 and had hated each other at first sight. Back in the day, she had been glad when he was out of her sight. Over the years, they met again from time to time. It was a surprise to Joan, when they met again 5 years ago – and discovered that they were different from the other soldiers. Francis had found her while she was using her aura to heal a child’s wound. He had revealed himself to her, and that had been their beginning. The hate had slowly faded and ever since, they had worked together – whenever it was possible.</p><p><em>“You know, what you two are doing is called dating. I’ve never seen someone going on dates for 2 years straight without deciding whether they are in a relationship or not.”</em> Marie, her former roommate, had told her. And Marie had been right. It had taken Joan and Francis two and a half years to decide that they wanted to try a relationship.</p><p>Was he considering staying in France for her? She didn’t want to be the reason that he missed out on a good job. It wasn’t her intention to hold him back, and the thought of letting him go made its way into her mind.<br/>
“You’re right,” she slowly agreed, “I have not been staying long in the same place either, but what about the job offer? What about the friends you have there?”<br/>
Francis stretched his back. “It’s not a job I would love to do for long,” he answered honestly, “I am more of a creative type. Besides that, I would’ve asked to be settled here permanently anyway. The United States will always need an intermediary in Europe, I mean. I think my friends would understand the reason why I would be staying here.” He smiled at her.</p><p>He sounded confident about this option, and Joan found herself wondering, if he had already thought about it beforehand. She had thought about this during the past few days as well, but if her life had taught her one thing, it was not to hold people back, even if it meant that you would get hurt.<br/>
“Joan, I am not going to decide that without you.” He changed his position. Now he was sitting in front of her so that he could take a better look at her, as he continued talking. “Another option is, that you move back with me.”</p><p>It was an option; but Joan hadn’t considered it yet. For sure this was a possibility. The immortal knew a lot of women who moved with the men they loved. Many from her old unit had done it. And yet, something was holding her back. The immortal wasn’t sure if he would understand the reason why she couldn’t move with him. “I am not sure if I can leave Paris,” her voice faded to a whisper while her mouth started to feel dry. “I promised a friend that I would wait here…” She stumbled over the words; her accent now prominent once again. Over the years, Francis had noticed that Joan could hide her childhood accent very well, adapting her language to her surroundings, but whenever she was nervous or something was bothering her, it would bleed into her speech. She turned away, embarrassed by her sudden display of emotions.</p><p>Saint-Germain noticed it, and took her hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Sweetheart, you can be honest with me. I know you don’t want to break your promise,” he told her and gave her his warmest smile. But instead of getting strength from his words, the words made her tear up, a whole new wave of thoughts rushing though her brain. She looked up at him, her grey eyes weren’t even trying to hide the pain.<br/>
“Are… are you….” She whispered, unable to speak out the words <em>“going to break up with me?”</em><br/>
She started to have hiccups, while tears raised in her eyes. Why was she even thinking that? What made her even assume that he would leave her?<br/>
Francis took her in his arms, pulling her onto his lap. Out of a reflex, Joan buried her face in the crook of his neck, hugging him back tightly. Tears wet his shirt, while he softly moved his hands up and down her back. Seeing her broken like this made his heart sink.<br/>
<em>“The war must have left much deeper scars that she is admitting,”</em> Saint-Germain thought, as he held her, gently humming a song to calm her. Another thought crossed his mind, and he decided to ask her about this, once she’d calmed down.</p><p>He had long lost track of time and was getting a little uncomfortable, as her breathing slowly returned to its rhythm.<br/>
Saint-Germain kissed her ear gently before he started to talk. “No, no I will never break up with you Jeanne,” he whispered, and she ended the hug, leaning a little back, so she could look at him, her eyes and face red from crying. “Please tell me,” the count continued, carefully choosing his next words, “Is it because you promised Marie to wait for her? Are you still grieving for her?”</p><p>The mentioned of Marie brought new tears. Her friend had been killed by a bomb a few days before they won the war. Joan could recall every horrible moment of the event. She and Marie had been visiting a base located in the outskirts of Paris. While Joan went inside the base to get the files that they’d come for, a bomb had hit the ground a few yards away. The worst thing had been that the bomb didn’t explode when it hit the ground. Packed with curiosity about which type of bomb it was, Marie had approached the bomb, not listening to Joan, who had pleaded with her not to approach it. The moment Marie was able to read its name, it went up.</p><p>“Y-Yeah,” the French woman answered wobbly. She was pulled into another hug by her boyfriend. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to avoid the pictures that were showing up within her memories.<br/>
Joan herself had been lucky that she had only been knocked over by the explosion, resulting in minor brushes and a few scratches. After the heat had faded, she went in search of her friend- and found her. Marie had been in a terrible condition, but alive.<br/>
<em>“Marie!”</em> Joan had dropped to her knees beside her friend, who was barely awake.<em> “Everything is fine. You’re going to be okay,”</em> she comforted her. Carefully, Joan had taken Marie's hand in hers.<br/>
<em>“Promise me that you will wait for me in Paris while I am recovering,”</em> Marie bid Joan.<br/>
The immortal had known that her friend wouldn’t make it. Too many times, she had seen wounded soldiers, who still had hope of recovering, even if death was already reaching for them.<br/>
<em>“Promise me.”</em><br/>
<em>“I promise that I will wait for you in Paris.”</em> Joan had promised. It was the last thing Marie ever heard.</p><p>Francis's heart dropped, as he comforted Joan. He drew slow circles on her back, again humming a song. The war had cost many lives, and even he lost a few friends. He found himself finally understanding why immortals weren’t trying to make many mortal friends after all.<br/>
“I… I think her ghost is still around,” the French woman slowly explained, “Strange things have happened since Marie died. I hear the floor creaking at night where her bed once stood. As if she is getting up. Then I hear someone walking around at night. Sometimes, when I sit near the heater, it gets really cold, even if it’s turned on fully. Or I hear someone whispering. It sounds like her.” Her voice was small, as if she was almost whispering.<br/>
“You… believe Marie is haunting you?” Francis suggested, “and that’s why you don’t want to leave? To make sure Marie has found her peace?” He saw her nodding.<br/>
If he was honest, he had experienced similar things. From time to time, he had a feeling as if things were moving around by themselves, like his pencils or shoes. Sometimes, he felt like someone was watching them. For now, Francis decided to keep it to himself. After Marie’s death, he’d moved in with Joan. They got rid of the two single beds and had replaced them with their current bed. Was Marie angry with them for getting rid of it? They had collected her possessions, and brought them back to her mother.<br/>
“I wouldn’t call it haunting,” Joan answered to his surprise, “More like…she isn’t ready to find peace.”<br/>
“What are you planning to do?” he wanted to know, running his hands up and down her back.<br/>
“I don’t have much experience with ghosts,” Joan admitted, “So I am not sure what to do.” She looked at him before returning to the beginning of their conversation. “So, what are you going to tell your foreman?”<br/>
“I won’t leave you,” Francis answered, kissing her, “You’re stuck with me now.” He grinned, showing his uneven teeth.<br/>
Joan couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Stuck with you? That sounds terrible,” she joked.<br/>
“Oh! You’re hurting my feelings!” Saint-Germain laughed before kissing her again, while she wrapped her legs around his waist and fell back with him.</p><p> </p><p>But from the darkest corner of the tiny room, <em>someone</em> was watching them, and it wasn’t Marie….</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>